


Chess.

by JadeRachelle



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 03:00:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeRachelle/pseuds/JadeRachelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arguments are inevitable. Jim and Sherlock have a ritual that always follows these upsets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chess.

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Шахматы](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5635246) by [shosh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shosh/pseuds/shosh)



> Another drabble from Jimmoriartykirk's headcanon.

"Look, it's clearly not going to react!"

"The chemistry says otherwise."

"The chemistry is theoretical!"

"And I'm going to prove the theory!"

"What makes this time any different to the last? Or the one before that? Or the one before that? It's not going to react!"

"I just have to get the right balance."

"It has nothing to do with the balance. It's not going to do anything."

"I just need to change the base conditions."

"To what, exactly? You can't change the temperature or it will be useless. It won't mimic the human body."

"It will if the human has a fever."

"But why would they have a fever AND this mix?"

"BECAUSE PEOPLE ARE STUPID, ALL RIGHT?"

"YOU'RE THE ONE WHO IS STUPID. IT. WON'T. WORK."

"Piss off, would you?"

"Fine."

Jim turned on his heel and reached for his coat, grabbing it and storming to the door of his flat. He pulled open the door with a little more force than strictly needed and let it slam shut behind him. The sound echoed through the hall and he felt his jaw clench as rage coursed through him. 

Sherlock could be such an idiot sometimes. He was so incredibly stubborn and refused to be proven wrong. His experiments and cases, his puzzles and clients, they all had to fit his theories. According to him, he was the end all, the one who could never be wrong. Everything he thought of and undertook had to prove him right no matter how ridiculous it was. It worked on Jim's gears something rotten. He was used to being the stubborn one, the childish one, the one who wouldn't be proven wrong. Adding Sherlock's arrogance and refusal to be incorrect was the main cause of their arguments. Neither could back down from a conflict without having the last word. Neither would dare admit defeat or concede that the other was right.

Jim reached the bottom of the stairs and breathed heavily as he stepped out onto the street, wrapping his coat around him and striding off down the path. It was a track he had walked many times now, his feet carried him without him realising it which left his mind free to sort itself out and allowed him to calm down.

Thankfully their arguments, or debates as Sherlock liked to call them, had moved from violent outbursts and threats to a more domestic vocalisation of views. Jim remembered their fights in the early days of sharing his flat. Neither man would surrender and Jim had been forced to pay off the landlord to keep his mouth shut about the blood stains on the carpet and the bullet hole in the sitting room wall. Things had certainly got out of hand a few times but now...

Now it was merely words. When they argued these days, Jim would simply leave the flat for a while to calm down, buy a pack of cigarettes and wander around. They had it down to a routine now. Once Jim had decided that enough time had passed for Sherlock to return to his usual temper, he would climb back up the stairs to his flat and enter quietly. There would always be tea laid out on the coffee table between their respective chairs and a chess board set up beside it. Sherlock would be sitting in his chair, usually cross legged with his fingers in a steeple pose and an apologetic look on his face. It followed a schedule, these fights.

Jim would sit opposite him, flinging his coat over the back of his chair and reach for his tea if the apology was accepted. If he was still rather mad at his partner, he would instead bypass the beverage and reach for a black chess piece. This was how it was for them. A game of logic, of planning and foresight to settle their nerves, to express an apology and to alleviate the stress. 

The game would rarely end. More often than not one of them would instead finish their tea and hold out their arms. The other would sigh and move to embrace him, the chess board often left forgotten just like their hostility. It was a ritual, a tradition, something they both understood and shared. It was more than just a tea and a game. It was an unspoken apology, an expression of being sorry and wanting to abandon the fight. It was special and it was sentimental, one of the most symbolic actions they shared, one that never failed to ease the tension and bring them back together.

Jim smiled to himself as he rounded the corner of the block, heading back to the flat. Surely that was enough time for Sherlock to calm down and make tea. He sighed to himself as he took the stairs back up to the flat, walking slowly and quietly. As much as he hated the arguing, it was inevitable with both men being the way they were and while a small gesture, sitting and focusing on a game of chess did always soothe the anger both felt when they fought.

As Jim approached the door he ran a hand through his hair, gently pushing open the door he had recently slammed. He felt his lips twitch into a smile when he saw, just as expected, his partner sitting with elegant chess board and worn tea set before him. Jim entered and shrugged off his coat, taking his seat and throwing Sherlock a small grin as he reached for the tea.


End file.
